


Steve Rogers – Who Apparently Knows a Thing or Two About Dirty Talk

by Cassy27



Series: Steve Rogers - A Man Full of Surprises! [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bottom Clint, Dirty Talk, Kitchen Sex, M/M, One Night Stand, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prequel, Top Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 12:11:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8445352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassy27/pseuds/Cassy27
Summary: “The date itself was fine and I went back with him to his place later that night, but …” Clint couldn’t believe he was actually saying those words, that he was saying them to Steve and that he would never be able to take them back again, “… the sex was just awful.”All that Steve did was nod his head, as if he’d expected that answer. Clint didn’t know whether he should feel offended or not. “So what sucked?” Clint never expected to talk to Captain America about something as private as his sex-life, but it turns out that Steve is a great listener who actually has a few tips to offer. He also would never have once guessed that Steve could have such a dirty, dirty mouth on him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, awesome Greenloki, for being my beta and suffering with me as I write OneShots like these ... :D

It was late. Too late really to be walking into the kitchen, opening up the refrigerator, and grabbing a cold beer, but Clint didn’t care. He just crawled out of bed because he couldn’t sleep, so if he was to stay up all night, he might as well make a good time of it. Taking a seat at the pristine kitchen island – no one ever cooked here, preferring take-out and pizza instead – Clint took his cell phone out of the pocket of his pyjama pants and checked for any new messages. He had none, which was no surprise. At all. Who had he expected to text him anyway? Natasha was gone on another top-secret SHIELD mission he was supposed to know nothing about. No communication possible there, which sucked, because he would have called her if he could last night.

Last night, which had sucked so badly he wished he could erase the time from his mind. He was sure the other guy felt the same way, so he wasn’t expecting a text from him either. Even if he did text to ask him out again, he’d just say no. Clint wasn’t usually a difficult and picky guy, but, really, it had been that terrible. So who else could text him? Bruce didn’t have a phone, because despite all of his genius, he lacked the ability to work a simple smartphone. That wasn’t actually true. Bruce simply disliked being available all the time. Tony occasionally sent him a funny picture – where he found those, Clint didn’t want to know – but the owner of this very building was tinkering away in what he liked to call his ‘garage’ – Clint preferred the term ‘stinking cave-hole’ – so he was too busy to even think about sending him something.

Sliding the phone away from him across the marble kitchen island, Clint took a sip from his beer. He could always just crash on the couch and put on a movie. It was after midnight so he was sure something dreadful enough was on to help numb at least part of his brain. Or he could just finish his beer and return to his room and put on porn. It could help erase last night’s memories.

It was when he had half finished his beer that he heard footsteps approach the kitchen. His first thought was Tony, having finished working for the night on whatever revolutionary project he was working on right now, but the steps were too heavy and too fast to belong to him. No, they belonged to someone bigger and heavier, with just as much confidence, but not as much arrogance. Like one Mr. Steve Rogers.

Clint was quickly proven right. Walking into the kitchen, barefoot and with his hair severely tussled, was Captain America, wearing nothing but black jogging pants and a grey shirt that clung to his body as if it were holding onto dear life itself. The fabric was also wet and, given the quick rise and fall of his chest, Clint instantly and easily knew what was going on.

“Still at the gym at this hour?” He watched Steve head for the fridge, but unlike him, he didn’t go for a beer. Instead, he took hold of a small bottle of water, which was probably the more intelligent decision at this hour. Steve turned and, leaning against the kitchen counter, nodded. “Courageous,” Clint said, because what time was it right now? Half past midnight?

“Bucky had some energy he needed to get rid of,” Steve said in between taking small gulps of water. Clint could tell he was itching to crawl into a shower-cabinet, could tell by the way he kept brushing his hair out of his eyes and kept tugging at the hem of the shirt that stuck to his broad chest and inhumanly muscled stomach. “What are you doing up so late?”

Lifting his bottle of beer, Clint nodded toward it. “What do you think?”

Much to his surprise, Steve didn’t actually mumble some ridiculously random excuse to leave then, like he’d expected him to, but instead pulled one of the barstools out from underneath the kitchen island and sat down beside him, ticking his see-through bottle of water against Clint’s brown bottle of beer.

“So, how is Bucky doing?” The metal-armed man had joined them at Avengers Tower not too long ago, having first spent months in a SHIELD prison, then months in a SHIELD psychiatric hospital, followed by a SHIELD safe-house and then, eventually, here. Clint still couldn’t completely believe Tony had agreed to it, but Steve had spent the better part of last year and this year convincing both him and Fury that it would be a good thing, that the end of the world wouldn’t take place if Bucky moved in, that it was their duty to help him, because he was as much a victim of Hydra as everyone else was. Or something along those lines. So far, everything ran smoothly, mostly because Bucky hardly ever left his personal rooms. Clint couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually seen him. Had it been last week? The week before?

After a heavy sigh escaped Steve, he shrugged his shoulders and focused on his hands, on the way his nails scratched at the plastic, producing a sharp and annoying sound. “I’m starting to doubt that bringing him here was a good idea.”

“I’m sure it was the right thing to do.” Clint wasn’t sure why he said what he said. Honestly, Natasha would be far better at offering comforting words, but she wasn’t here, so it seemed the job was left to his very incapable hands. “He just needs time to adjust, because after everything he went through …” He wasn’t even sure what the guy all went through in the first place. Living through World War Two, falling to his death, being revived by Hydra, then turned into a lethal weapon, used and abused, tortured, … And now all those memories were slowly returning to him, haunting him. “He’s lucky to have you as his friend.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, not sounding convinced at all. Clint doubted that was what Steve needed at the moment anyway; to be convinced that they were actually helping. After taking another sip from his bottle of water, Steve turned on the barstool a little, just enough so he could look at Clint and change the subject. “How did your date go last night? You didn’t come home. Not that that’s any of my business,” He cleared his throat suddenly, awkwardly, and straightened his back. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I really didn’t want–”

“It’s fine, Steve.” Clint chuckled, head shaking ever so slightly. It was funny to see Captain America stumble for words so suddenly, to see a faint blush creep up his neck, toward his cheeks. It was a rare privilege to see Steve awkward and shy. “The date was fine, actually. We went out for dinner and saw some ridiculous action movie after.”

Steve eyed him suspiciously while a short silence stretched on between them. “But …?” He asked when Clint wasn’t going to burden him with the rest of the story. It was something he’d tell Tony, sure, but Steve? Clint hadn’t trod these sort of topics with him before, didn’t know how he felt discussing them, and he sure as hell didn’t want to risk destroying their friendship over a date gone wrong. No, Steve definitely didn’t need to hear about what he did in a bedroom.

“It’s nothing,” He said, “There just wasn’t any … chemistry.”

“You know, Clint, I’m not an idiot.” Steve planted one elbow firmly on top of the kitchen island and rested his head on his fist. His bright blue eyes never left his own grey ones, and, not for the first time, Clint remembered that lying to Captain America was a gullible thing to do. “What happened?”

That was when Clint realised that Captain America wasn’t actually a shy, awkward national symbol of heroics, but a young guy living in the twenty first century, just like the rest of them. He dated, too, so of course he had … experience. He’d dated Peggy Carter and, later on, Sharon Carter – Clint wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea of Steve keeping to the same family, but it led him to conclude Steve was kinkier than he’d ever dare to admit. He also suspected Steve had secretly dated Bucky back in the day and that he also went out with Sam a few times even though he’d never said anything about it. Clint liked Sam, too. He was a cool guy.

“The date itself was fine and I went back with him to his place later that night, but …” Clint couldn’t believe he was actually saying those words, that he was saying them to Steve and that he would never be able to take them back again, “… the sex was just awful.”

Much to his surprise, Steve hardly reacted. All that he did was nod his head, as if he’d expected that answer. Clint didn’t know whether he should feel offended or not. “So what sucked?” A beat, then Steve covering his face with a hand, lip drawn in between his teeth in what shouldn’t be so hot. “Not that I meant– What I mean was–”

“I know what you mean.” Clint chuckled and, just to give Steve a moment to recover, to shrug off his inelegance, took a sip from his beer. And another, only to find that the bottle was empty. “It was plain old boring.” He stood and headed to the fridge again, this time grabbing two brown bottles. One he offered to Steve who politely accepted, much to Clint’s relief, because he was actually having a good time and he didn’t want Steve to leave just yet, not now he’d discovered that talking to him, about something as awkward as sex, was actually … nice. Comfortable. He couldn’t describe it any other way. He felt a sense of freedom, too, knowing that he could say anything and not be judged. Sitting back down, he continued, “It was like doing it with a corpse. The guy just laid there, unmoving, which at first was just weird, but then it became absolutely freaky.”

Steve was watching him intently, fingers curled casually around his drink. “What did you do then?”

“Not what did _I_ do.” A shiver ran down his spine at the memory. “He started talking,” He explained when Steve frowned at him, “He started saying the most awful and ridiculous things. It actually took me a minute to realise that he was …” Could he actually say it? Could he give Steve this particular detail of the evening? Hell, why not? He already knew so much and he hadn’t even blinked. Honestly, the guy kept surprising him. “He was talking dirty to me and I was desperate to save the night, so I joined in, but Steve, dude, that’s when I realised that I suck at talking dirty.”

Steve huffed out one loud, well-meant laugh. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Don’t mock me. As if you could do better.” Staring at the contents of his beer, he sighed and wondered why exactly he wasn’t apt at saying a sequence of filthy words. Sex he was good at. Hell, he was great at it! None of his previous partners had ever complained about his flexibility in bed, both physically as mentally, but saying vulgar and obscene words? His mind apparently blanked at that, which shouldn’t annoy him as much as it did. Didn’t it go to show that he couldn’t debase his partner, that he respected him or her too much to say raunchy things? It actually didn’t. Debasement had very little to do with it. “I think, at one point, I said that I wanted to impale him with my dick or something.”

The laugh that escaped Steve this time was even louder than before. Clint detected a hint of ridicule, which rather offended him. Leaning away from Steve, he chucked down half of his beer before standing, regretting telling Steve so much, only for Steve to curl a hand around his wrist, preventing him from walking away – which was exactly what he wanted to do.

“I’m sorry.” The bastard sounded sincere. “That was mean.”

“Yeah.”

“I just can’t believe that you actually said that.” Steve stared at him with those impossibly blue eyes again, and Clint couldn’t believe that he actually found himself sitting down again. It seemed he loved torturing himself. “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who strikes out at saying a few dirty words, that’s all, that’s why I’m so shocked. And I expressed my shock in the wrong sort of way.” Steve and his fucking decent apologies. “Talking dirty is all about letting your desires run freely, about expressing just what it is you want to do.”

Clint snorted. “You sound like an expert.”

“What, you don’t believe me?” Steve pushed his beer aside and turned his full body toward Clint – Clint who suddenly didn’t know what to do with himself, didn’t know whether to fold his hands or keep them firmly around his bottle of beer, didn’t know whether to cross his legs or not, didn’t know whether to look Steve in the eye or turn down his gaze. “I can talk dirty if you like,” The asshole’s voice actually dropped, making it deep and husky, fucking sensual, “I can tell you all the dirty things I want to do to you. Would you like to hear?”

It was a rhetorical question and it wasn’t actually about him, but Clint found himself nodding. Why was he nodding? Why was he even listening and allowing this moment to happen? He should stop this right now, before he did or said something that could and would ruin their friendship.

“I would take you back with me,” Steve said, “To my bedroom, where I’d slowly undress you.”

Swallowing heavily, Clint had to remind himself to keep breathing.

“I’d touch you and drive you crazy with how careful I am and you’ll shiver with anticipation. When my lips ghost against yours, your breath will falter, and that’s when I’ll take you to bed.” Steve leaned forward, ever so slightly, and looked at Clint from underneath dark eyelashes. If he was feeling awkward or excited, he didn’t show it. “I’d kiss you then, right at the base of your cock–” Clint gasped ever so slightly, unable to take his eyes off of Steve, unable to stop thinking about his mouth on his body. He bet it felt glorious. “You’d tremble beneath me and beg me to fuck you already, but that’s not what I want to do. No, my hands will spread your legs, real wide, and then I’d kiss you _right there_.”

His hands began to shake with anticipation and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Oh, he could so vividly imagine what it would feel like to have Steve’s face between his legs, to feel his tongue lick him and enter him and _fuck_. “Steve,” he breathed.

“I’d be so hard for you, baby–” No, that bastard wasn’t allowed to call him _that_ , “–but I wouldn’t dare touch myself. Once you’re stretched and wet, I would undress myself and you’d see with your own eyes just how desperate I am for you. I’d fuck you then, long and hard, until you beg for release, until–”

“Stop.” Clint couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t listen a moment longer, because if he did, well, he feared he’d come right in his pants and he wasn’t ready to humiliate himself in front of Captain America. “Sorry, just … stop.” His whole body felt hot, like fire raged within his veins and heat pooled near his crotch. It was a miracle Steve hadn’t yet spotted his erection – because he was hard and his pyjama pants were doing a very poor job of concealing it.

“Shit, sorry,” Steve straightened his back, body angling away from him, “I got carried away. I didn’t mean–” His gaze lowered, down Clint’s body, and lingered on his crotch which Clint was clumsily trying to cover up with his hands. All words evidently died in his mouth.

Steve closed his eyes.

“Could you give me a moment?”

“Uhm, yeah, sure.” Steve all but jumped up from the barstool, taking a step back, hands fidgeting at his sides and cheeks turning a crimson red colour. Clint didn’t know what turned him on more; to hear Steve say all those things to him or to witness him stumble all of a sudden, desperate to get out of a situation he clearly couldn’t get out of. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yeah.” He shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t push them deeper into the situation, but thinking had become damn near impossible and he wasn’t to blame. This was Steve’s fault. He started all this. “Steve?” He waited until Steve turned to look at him again from across the kitchen island. “You’re really good at that. I could learn a thing or two from you.”

Steve laughed shakily, eyes down on the floor, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I doubt that.”

 Climbing down from the barstool, Clint finished his beer and hummed. It was time to wish each other goodnight and retreat to their bedrooms. Clint knew what he’d do, what he had to do if he ever wanted to sleep tonight, and he had the faint suspicion that Steve would be doing the same, because there was no denying; Steve felt as aroused as he did. Clint could tell by the quick rise and fall of his chest, by the redness of his cheeks, and by the black jogging pants doing the same fantastic job of concealing an erection as his pyjama pants were.

“The thing is,” Clint forced the words out, wanting to say them, but unsure of the reaction he’d receive. Yet he doubted Steve would run away from him, doubted he’d be shocked by what he had to say, because the facts lay abundantly clear before him. Steve having a beer with him, Steve asking about his sex-life, Steve saying the hottest things to him, Steve being hard, Steve not yet having run to the other side of the building … Either he would do that now, or not. “After everything you just said to me,” Clint articulated each word sharply, wanting Steve to hear them loud and clear, “I’d let you fuck me right here and now if you wanted to.”

Silence.

Clint felt his skin crawl as Steve looked at him, with darkened eyes and lips firmly pressed together. This was it, he’d pushed too far, had just ruined their friendship, would never be able to face him again, or the rest of their teammates, would have to leave the Avengers, because– Steve closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye, his hands fisting Clint’s shirt as he pulled him closer. Their lips crashed together and, for one brief moment, Clint wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, until his stupidly slow brain finally caught up with the rest and realised that Steve was kissing him. He was actually kissing Steve freaking Rogers.

Despite knowing that he should probably stop this, that this was a really, really bad idea, Clint tossed all rational sense from his body and returned Steve’s kiss, lips parting to let him, their tongues easily finding each other. It was a fast and hard kiss, leaving them both instantly breathless and desperately aching for more.

Turning, Clint jumped up onto the kitchen island, uncaring of the beer bottles, and spread his legs. Steve stepped in between them, already eagerly searching for Clint’s mouth again, while his hands shifted underneath Clint’s shirt lifting it up and over his head. Everything was a wildness of movement, too fast, too uncoordinated, and yet nothing happened quickly enough.

“Get rid–” It was difficult getting out words while Steve was still vigorously claiming his mouth. “–of your shirt.” Steve instantly obeyed, pulling his own grey shirt over his head and carelessly tossing it aside. Clint hummed loudly, appreciating the sight before him, because _damn_ , while he’d seen Steve shirtless before, he’d never quite looked at him as he was right now. And he could touch him! Hands roaming Steve’s broad chest, Clint leaned forward and sank his teeth into his collarbone, a shiver of excitement running down his spine at the moan it elicited from him. “Fuck, you’re so good at talking dirty, so don’t stop now.”

“You’re desperate for me to fuck you, aren’t you?” Steve’s nails dragged down Clint’s sides, leaving red lines in their wake. Clint wanted to be marked more. “What do you want me to do, Clint? Do you want me to bend you over this island and fuck you? Is that what you want?” His hands tugged at Clint’s pyjama pants, pushing them down to expose more skin, and Clint heartily lifted his hips, allowing Steve to expose him completely. The sudden rush of cold hair made him, if possible, even harder, his length heavy against his thigh.

“Make good on your word,” Clint said, “Fuck me long and hard, until I beg for release.”

Before he could fully register what was happening, Clint found himself pressed down onto his stomach on the cold marble kitchen island, his feet kicked apart with his pants near his ankles. Steve’s warm hands were pressing down on his lower back, keeping him in place, firmly, so he couldn’t get away even if he wanted to – but he didn’t want to. Hell, no, he’d beg Steve to hold him down if he had to. Those warm hands slipped down the swell of his ass to part his cheeks, making him shiver with anticipation, because was Steve really going to–? Yes, yes he was!

All breath left his lungs when he felt Steve’s tongue lick him and firmly push inside of him.

“Oh, damn.” Clint pressed his face against the coolness of the marble, needing it to help settle his mind, to help ground him in this moment, because this was happening, this was actually, really happening. Not a dream. Not a fantasy. “Oh, fuck!” His hands desperately searched for purchase, fingertips dragging across the surface of the island to the point where they began to hurt. “Steve, you gotta– You gotta fuck me. I can’t hold on much longer.”

It was true. His cock was pressed in between his body and the marble, the lack of friction and touch the only reason why he hadn’t yet come.

Steve’s lips brushed against the shell of Clint’s ear. “Then beg.”

“Shit, _Steve_.” Clint was only faintly aware of the fact that he was actually bent over in the kitchen, with the kitchen-door open. Anyone could walk in right now, could see him in this compromised position, could hear him moan and gasp and _beg,_ and yet he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Please, Steve, I need you to–” To what? There were so many things he wanted Steve to do to him. Part of him wanted to drag this out, wanted them both to feel tortured with delayed pleasure, but the bigger part of him went _screw it all_. “I need you to fuck me already. Please. I need you– I need you to make me come.”

“You’re really good at begging, you know that?” Steve’s teeth sunk into the shell of his ear, drawing a startled and pleased cry from Clint’s lips. And then Steve’s cock was pushing into his ass, with some difficulty, because they didn’t have any lube at hand, but Clint didn’t care. He loved it. He needed it. Ass pushing back, disliking the sudden carefulness of the Captain, Clint reached back and curled a hand around Steve’s naked thigh.

“Hard, Steve, please.” He squeezed shut his eyes and focused on the throbbing of his own cock, focused on the way his entire body shivered, every muscle tensing as heat and desire filled him. Shit, it had been a while since he felt this good! “Steve, _please_.”

Steve began to move then, hard and fast, the sound of skin slapping against skin depravedly loud inside the kitchen. Shit, if Tony ever found out what happened in his kitchen …

Moaning and breathing loudly, Steve fucked him, just like he’d said he would. His hands pressed bruises into Clint’s hips, but Clint didn’t care. On the contrary. Head thrown back, he bared the side of his throat, nearly screaming out in pleasure when Steve kissed him there and sucked another bruise into his skin. He was close, so fucking close, and Steve couldn’t stop, not now, had to keep on fucking him, right until – _fuck!_ Clint came, suddenly and hard. He didn’t know what to do with himself, didn’t know whether to scream or cry as his own stickiness made the kitchen island warm and slippery.

His ass clenched and unclenched around Steve’s cock and a few thrusts later, Steve came, too. Clint didn’t know whether to love or feel peculiar as Steve’s come slid down the inner sides of his thighs. Had this really happened? Had he just been fucked by Captain America, his friend and colleague, a guy who was essentially nearly a century old? Yes, all that had really happened.

When Steve stumbled back, his legs clearly having difficulty holding him up, Clint turned, uncaring of the mess he was, and slid down to the floor. He was breathing hard and fast, and his heart was racing at a hundred miles per hour. This couldn’t possibly be healthy. He should work out more.

Steve stared at him, with big blue eyes that had difficulty concealing what he was thinking right now. Clint could read every thought so very clearly on his face and, no, he wasn’t going to allow _those_ kind of thoughts to ruin this night. “Come here,” he breathed, and held out a hand for Steve to take – which he did after only a moment of hesitation. Clint pulled him down to the floor with him and forced himself to look at Steve’s face, not at Steve’s still exposed dick which was still leaking a little, the head swollen and raw. He didn’t try to think of how much he wanted to suck it clean.

“Thanks,” He smiled and brushed a hand down the side of Steve’s face, “I needed that.”

“I didn’t realise it, but …” Steve was avoiding eye-contact, which Clint wouldn’t have either. He pressed the tip of his finger to the underside of Steve’s chin and made him look at him. “I needed that, too.”

Their kiss was different this time, slower and sweeter.

“Thanks for the lesson in dirty talk,” Clint grinned a moment later, despite his head spinning, despite feeling so incredibly tired suddenly. It was getting really late after all. “Please don’t tell anyone I suck at it.”

Steve laughed, loud and sincerely, which was all Clint had hoped to achieve, and he realised that nothing was ruined between them. Their friendship was still very much intact and, hell, he’d never once dared to think that Steve was such a beast in the sack.

“I’m gonna go take a shower,” Steve said, pulling away from Clint and getting himself decent again – or as decent as humanly possible, because there was no way anyone could miss the fact that he just got laid. Tussled hair, red cheeks, swollen lips. A thin layer of sweat covered every inch of his body and the smell of sex thickened the air around them. There was still the noticeable bulge to his pants, too, because his body was still coming down from the high. It made Clint wonder how exactly he looked like right now.

“I’ll see you in the morning?” Steve asked.

Nodding, Clint began to get himself decent again, too. Or semi-decent. He didn’t care how he looked like, really, because he just got fucked and it had been the best fuck in months.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Cap,” He grinned.


End file.
